


A Family Affair

by AllonsyJawn



Series: Sunday Tea [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Weevils (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllonsyJawn/pseuds/AllonsyJawn
Summary: The Sequel to Sunday tea. Sherlock is getting ready to tell John that he loves him when he gets some disturbing news. Jack Harkness's disappearance is only the beginning of a series of well laid plans meant to distract the detective - but from what? Two people are working to take over the world, and there's only one family that can stop them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here is the sequel to Sunday Tea. I left this work alone a long time and was nervous to put it on here due to it not being finished yet, but in the last few weeks I have written a lot more of it, so I'm confident enough to start moving it here. I have five chapters prewritten, and after that I will try to update regularly.
> 
> Thanks,  
> AllonsyJawn

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, pursing his lips at the infernal clock above the sink. As a child he'd found the slow, steady tick of a clock to be soothing. Time often moved out of order for him, and a steady metronome that ticked away the moments meant consistency to his otherwise hectic life. Nowadays, as an adult, he had grown to hate the sound. Instead of a ballast to cling to, the clock now meant he was a prisoner, doomed to live every second exactly when it was intended to be lived. Normally this wouldn't have bothered him enough to warrant the deadly glares he was sending towards the clock, but it was different today. Everything was different today.

It had been two weeks now since John Watson had discovered one of the deeply held secrets of his flatmate. He appeared, at least to Sherlock, to have become something akin to comfortable with the fact that he was living with a half alien. After that first night, Sherlock had been on edge for days, waiting for the other foot to drop. Any day, he'd thought, any day now John will realize the gravity of the situation. He'd be able to see it in his friends eyes when he realized what everyone else already knew- that the Holmes brothers were freaks. Every day he would sneak a furtive glance at John's face, but each time the dreadful word was not mirrored back to him.

Despite all common sense, John was willing to look past the secret of his birth and childhood. But there was another secret, something that couldn't be so easily swept beneath the rug. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to keep this final secret to his grave, and before the last visit by his parents that had been his intention. This was a delicate situation, and the truth needed to come from his own mouth. Time was running out though- his mother was threatening to come forward before he had a chance to. It was unavoidable. He had to tell John that he was in love with him.

It was almost time. He'd made this decision three days before-that he'd give himself the proper time to prepare, and then be obligated to tell John the truth an hour after he returned from work on Friday night. This was mostly based on things he had observed while living with the army doctor, with the goal being to catch him at the best possible time. John was always in a poor mood Sunday and Monday night, so those nights were not a possible option. Tuesdays he usually watched some little singing show whose name Sherlock repeatedly deleted from his mind whenever he accidently learned it. Wednesdays he updated his blog, and although he doubted his flatmate would be angry enough to immediately post about the incident, he didn't want to take the chance. Thursday was a plausible option, but if John needed time to process the information then he would be distracted at work the next day. Friday and Saturday were left, and he was more apt to have a drink as soon as he was home from the clinic Friday. The logic was sound, impeccably poured over, and sure to be his best bet. He was terrified.

His phone buzzed twice- his notification that someone had sent him an email. He rolled his eyes; he'd been ignoring some boring-looking cases since they'd had their trip in the blue box. There was no need to bother with simple cases when most of his brain power was focused on the task at hand.

He heard the key turn in the lock. Both of his hearts beat out an adrenal Symphony, but his face was composed and smooth. John came into the flat, unaware of his friend's intense distress.

"Sherlock," he asked, as he pulled off his coat, "why was the door locked?"

"A particularly boring client has been trying to visit. I heard him knocking like a maniac when I was trying to sleep earlier."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"No."

"Then how do you know he'll be boring?"

"Persistence like his only comes into practice when there's a love affair. Love affairs make for boring cases." Sherlock inwardly cringed once the words came out. _Yes, good idea, tell him what a bad idea love is now, you idiot._

John shrugged and locked the door behind him, flopping down in his red chair in front of the fireplace. Sherlock bit the inside of his lip and picked up the small brown bag he'd been hiding behind his feet. From inside he pulled a tall bottle of John's preferred beer and a small bag of red licorice. He walked casually over to John's chair and set the snacks on his stand before folding himself into his own chair across the rug from his friend.

John frowned at the small offering, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "Beer and licorice?"

"You prefer it to chocolate, correct?"

"Well, yeah, but why did you buy some?"

"I was already out."

"Doing what?"

"Shopping."

"You never shop."

"We were out of milk."

"So you bought milk then?"

"Nnnnnnno, I forgot the milk."

John looked him once up and down, sizing him up slowly. He leaned forward accusation swimming in his eyes. "Sherlock, is this poisoned?"

"What? No, why would I—"

"You've done it before."

"Oh, one time, John! And it turned out to only be sugar."

"Then why would you buy me beer and licorice?"

"Because we're friends, John! I'm allowed to do that, aren't I? Friends can buy each other something to nibble on after work. Or is that some great silent rule, like not telling someone they've gained weight but congratulating them when they lose it? Honestly I can't be expected to memorize all of these silly little human guidelines."

"Okay!" John said, quickly, holding up his hand. "Okay. Thank you." He opened the beer quickly, letting Sherlock see him take a sip to show he appreciated it. "Any interesting cases come around today? It's been a while."

"No, nothing important."

John winced. "Ouch. You must be going mad, cooped up in here with nothing exciting to do."

About twenty minutes passed. For any other two people, sitting in such heavy silence would have been awkward, but the two of them were used to just existing in each other's company.

"John," Sherlock finally started, taking a moment to steady himself. "There's something…we need to discuss something."

"What is it?"

 _Do it quick, like a Band-Aid_. "I… Okay, last week when my parents were here—"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Holmes?" a deep voice called. Mr. Holmes, are you home?"

Sherlock sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Oh, _God_. Ignore him, he'll go away. Anyway, John, I was talking to my mother, and she suggested that I tell you—"

The next knock at the door was much fiercer, and this time it was a woman's voice. With a thick welsh accent she hollered into the flat. "To hell with this! We don't have time to be chasing after you!"

There was a buzzing sound, a whining charge echoing through the flat.

John frowned. "What is that sound?"

Sherlock's eyes widened, then he dived across the rug and pulled John to the ground, covering both of their heads at the last possible minute. There was a loud explosion as the locked door burst into hundreds of small pieces, flying past their heads and scattering all across the room. Sherlock heard a window shatter somewhere and the sound of John's favorite teacup shattering on the coffee table.

Sherlock winced as his ears rang, automatically brushing a few light splinters out of John's hair before jerking his hand back. He'd never actually touched John's hair before, and he was struck by the soft, choppy feel of it. This was not the time.

Smoke settled and the two men peered up from the carpet as a man and woman walked through the smoking hole where their door had been.

"Jesus, Gwen!" the man said, rubbing his ears. "I thought you said it would just open the door!"

"It did," she shrugged, wincing a bit. In her hands was a large gun unlike anything John had ever seen.

The army doctor jumped to his feet, grabbing his hand gun from its hiding place underneath his armchair and pointing it back at the woman.

"Hey!" she said pointing the barrel of the weapon towards him. "Drop it!"

"I don't bloody think so!" John said, mouth hanging open in shock as he surveyed the damage. "Look at my door! Who the hell are you?"

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" she asked skeptically. "I thought you'd be taller."

"John," Sherlock said quickly, "you can lower the gun. She can't hurt us."

"That…. That _thing_ she's holding just blew in our door!"

"It's a Sontaran Squareness gun. A malfunctioning, _old_ model, but definitely Sontaran. She won't be able to shoot it again for at least a half hour while it recharges."

Gwen frowned, inspecting the weapon. The man next to her crossed his arms. "Really? That's a terrible idea for a weapon."

"It's not a weapon," Sherlock said angrily, stalking over and ripping the gun from Gwen's hands. "It's used for emergency exits. Only an ignorant, stupid life-form, playing with things beyond their base intelligences, would use it as a weapon. I am Sherlock Holmes, and you need to leave. Now."

My name is Ianto Jones, and this is Gwen Cooper," the man said holding out his hand. Sherlock just glared at him so he shrugged and put the hand back in his pocket. "You've been ignoring us, Mr. Holmes. Do you ever check your Email? We must have left a thousand messages, and I've been to your flat every day—"

"I'm aware," Sherlock snapped, turning on his heel. "If you're here so often, it should be easy for you to find your way home from here, yes?"

"Mr. Holmes—"

"I decide what cases I take on!" he said sharply as he walked away through the kitchen. "I thought my complete lack of reciprocity might be enough, but I guess I'll have to spell it out for you. I'm. Not. Interested. We'll be sending you the bill for the door. Now get out before we call the police."

"You will listen to what we have to say!" Gwen started, but Ianto held up his finger to her.

"Mr. Holmes, Captain Jack Harkness sent us here."

They heard Sherlock's footsteps stop, then he slowly walked back into the living room, fixing the suited man with a suspicious glare. "Jack Harkness has my mobile number. If he needed me, he would have called."

"He can't."

"Why not?"

"That's the point, Mr. Holmes. Jack is missing. Has been for almost two weeks. He left us protocols, instructions on what to do is he goes missing and doesn't contact us. There were places for us to check, contacts to ask about his whereabouts, but no one knows anything. At the top of the protocols, it says that if we can't find him, we find Mr. Sherlock Holmes at 221 B Baker Street."

Sherlock frowned, staring at the floor as the wheels in his head turned. "Who are you?"

"I told you—"

"To him. Who are you to Jack Harkness?"

"I'm…he's our boss," Ianto said.

Sherlock saw the slight tinting of his cheeks and remembered his father talking about Jack's special male interest of this century. "Any leads?"

John guffawed. "You're actually considering helping them? After they broke our flat?"

Sherlock sighed a bit guiltily. "Jack is family, John."

John's eyes widened. "Oh. Like… _your_ family?"

"Sort of. If you don't want to get involved—"

"No," John said quickly. "I didn't know. I'll help."

Ianto pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "This is our only clue. It was laying on top of Jack's desk the day he disappeared."

Sherlock took the paper, and almost immediately smirked. Across the little paper was a number.

_487879465327_

"We don't know what it means," Ianto said. "It's too long for a phone number, too short for proper coordinates—"

"I know what it is," Sherlock said, flipping the little strip over. His smile faded immediately. There, typed in small black letter, was a three word message that made his heart pound in his chest.

_Love, From M_


	2. Chapter 2

Ianto drove the dark van quickly through the dim streets with Gwen sitting tensely in the passenger seat, still holding the gun. Sherlock and John sat behind them in a thick silence.

John drummed his fingers against his thigh. "So…you work for MI6?"

Ianto shook his head. "No. We're outside of the government."

" _Beyond the police,"_ Sherlock muttered dramatically. " _Tracking down alien life on Earth, arming the human race against the future_."

"Hey!" Gwen said, pointing the gun warningly in John's direction.

Sherlock's arm darted forward and grabbed the gun, yanking it back across his lap. "First, do not point a gun at John or myself. Second, as I've explained, it's not a gun and you look like an idiot. Third, John knows about aliens, as do I. Do you honestly think Jack would send you to someone who didn't? Lastly, if you wish to help us, I suggest you calm down. Turn left up ahead."

"Who put you in charge?" Gwen asked.

"Jack. Are you not paying attention?"

"Exactly how do you know Jack?" Ianto asked.

"Here," Sherlock said, opening the door before the car stopped in front of a bustling building. Next to the building was a stairway into the underground.

"Sherlock!" John grumbled as Ianto slammed on the brakes.

"We need to move, John," he said simply.

He jogged to catch up with him, grabbing his arm. "Sherlock," he said quietly, "I'm sorry, I really am, but we have to prepare for the possibility that…" he faltered, dropping his eyes a bit. "I'm sorry, but if Moriarty is behind this and he took your friend that long ago…Sherlock he's probably dead."

Sherlock snorted. "Um, no. He's not. Well, he might be, but it's nothing to be concerned about."

John frowned. "What?"

Sherlock broke free, running down the stairs. They followed him, pushing past the busy late-night crowd.

"A bus?" Gwen asked skeptically. "We're taking a bus?"

"Oh God," Sherlock muttered. "Here I assume Jack sends me a crack team, and I get an idiot."

"Excuse me!" she spat. "I am an agent of Torchwood, and before that I was with the police."

"Detective?"

"Police Constable."

He sighed. "A Police Constable and a coffee boy."

"How did you know—"

"Jack likes his coffee," Sherlock said simply, stopping in his tracks and running his hands along a wall. The wall was covered in small boxes with keyholes, numbered in the hundreds.

"A deposit box?" Gwen asked skeptically. "I think the numbers a bit long for that."

"John," Sherlock said flippantly, "I've decided I'm not going to talk to PC Cooper anymore. She's slowing me down with stupid observations. However, if you were curious, my family has a special system to send important messages confidentially throughout London. The first two numbers of any string of numbers we send refers to the location of an underground station. The next three are the box number. The lock is constructed to match the key to the TARDIS, and we all have a key."

"That's only five numbers. There are seven more."

"I know," he mused, turning the key in the lock. He opened the box and sand began pouring out, piling onto the floor. He pulled out a small black contraption connected to a wrist band. "I suspect the rest are for this."

"That's Jack's!" Ianto said, taking it from his and turning it over.

Sherlock yanked it back. "Yes, I know, thank you Coffee Boy. It's a vortex manipulator."

"Sherlock—" John started, looking at Ianto apologetically.

"No," Sherlock cut him off, punching a series of numbers into the device. "I've had enough of teamwork. Plus, I'm rather impartial to people who _destroy my flat_. If you want Jack back, then get back there and replaced our door and our window. Also, John needs a new teacup."

"You have got to be kidding me," Gwen scoffed.

"Not at all," Sherlock said, strapping the thing to his wrist. "We don't need you anymore. You're not going to remember us anyway, so, bye," Sherlock grabbed ahold of John's arm and something clicked.

John gasped as the world dropped out from under him. Nothing made sense. Colors whirled around them. His mind bent into two dimensions and then back again. He felt his own feet hit the top of his head. The only thing he was certain of was Sherlock's tight grasp on his arm, but no matter how hard he called for him no sound came from his lips.

He gasped, suddenly seeing blue sky above him. He felt soft sand beneath his neck. Sherlock's hand was still on his arm, and he heard the other man gasping for air next to him. John took deep breaths, desperately trying to moisten his mouth.

"What was that?" he finally gasped out.

"Time travel. The hard way. You're a bit spoiled, you've only traveled in the TARDIS. It's like driving in a sports car your whole life and then being stuck in a bumper car. Time travel without a vessel is…unpleasant."

"It feels like I have a nasty hangover," John muttered as Sherlock helped him to his feet.

"Be glad we're only displaced by two weeks. I had to jump fifty years once. I passed out for three days."

John glanced around. They were on some empty beach, the calm waves lapping gently only yards away. He winced into the bright sunlight. "Two weeks? Oh, God, I won't be able to stand the return trip."

"There won't be one. We're changing the last two weeks to pick up Jack just after he was captured. We'll remember what happened because if we didn't we wouldn't know why we were here."

"We're disappearing for two weeks?" John balked. "Sherlock, I have a job, I can't just—"

"No, you don't understand. Whatever you did in the last two weeks, that all still happens. We are now living in a world with two John Watsons and two Sherlock Holmes. One pair is living peacefully at Baker Street, unaware of what is going on. The only difference is that the two of us will be saving Jack right away, so Torchwood will have no reason to contact us. At the end of two weeks the timelines will readjust, and we'll be one pair again that remembers everything. It'll be a bit annoying to have simultaneous memories, I have to warn you. I once accidently attended four separate cocktail parties at the same time."

"I'm lost," he mumbled. "Why are we on a beach?"

"These were the coordinates on the paper," he shrugged, covering his eyes and staring out across the sand. "Jack!" he called. They heard nothing.

They started out across the beach, calling his name. "Oh," John said suddenly, furrowing his eyebrows, "what did you need, by the way?"

"What?"

"Earlier before the…gun—hey, will our flat be a mess when we get back?"

Sherlock smirked. "No. They've never come to the flat. It'll be just as we left it."

"Beer and licorice," John smiled. "So before all that, what did you want to tell me?"

"Uh…nothing. It's not important, just odds and ends about a case."

"I thought there were no cases?"

Sherlock sighed, sliding his scarf off of his neck in the thick heat. Now was as good as ever.

"Hey!" a voice called from down the beach.

They jumped looking around desperately. There was no one in sight. "Jack!" Sherlock called out.

"Hey! Hurry up!"

They ran down the beach peering into the distance. "Jack!"

"Stop!" the voice ordered.

They froze. "Jack?"

"Over here," the voice said slightly to the right.

John gasped. A man was buried in the sand, only his head poking out from the deep hole. The tide had come in somewhat, and he had to spit water out of the hole to speak. He was gasping for air, trying desperately to turn his head to see the two men.

Sherlock smiled. "Jack."

"Hey, kid," Jack smiled, peering up from the sand. He glanced at John and the grin widened. "Hello to you, too. Captain Jack Harkness. I'd shake your hand, but I'm a little tied up at the moment."

"No," Sherlock said immediately, making harsh eye contact with Jack. "Don't do that."

Jack laughed. "Get me out of here. We need to talk."

"About what."

"Moriarty."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was late, and that wasn't right. Sure, he wasn't very late, but as Ianto Jones walked nervously around the main level of the hub the absence of the strange man hung heavily in the air. Gwen was tapping her foot softly, disguising her worried panic as a coffee break. Even Tosh, typing slowly and grumpily at the failing program ahead of her, seemed to slow down as she glanced nervously at the door.

The funny thing about a perception filter is that it works below ground as well as above. As the small slab of pavement lowered down into the center of the hub, not one of the nervous employees even glanced in their direction.

Sherlock snorted, glancing around the room. "They're looking for you, and they still can't see you. No wonder your team needs help, they're pathetic."

"Are we invisible?" John chuckled, staring at his own hands. He was staring in shock at the wide, cavernous halls around him. As usual, he saw a look of complete disinterest on Sherlock's face. Nothing was knew to him, nothing was novel.

"No. Not to anyone who's actually looking. Perception filters only make you want to look away. They can be useful. I've brought home three dead bodies in the last year, you didn't notice."

Ianto was standing quite close to the slab when Jack stepped off and appeared directly in front of him. He jumped, the coffee cup falling from his hands and landing with a harsh thump on the metal floor.

"Jack! I didn't realize you were here."

"I wasn't," Jack said, hopping down to peek at the slow program on Tosh's computer. "I was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Gwen asked, squinting at the two strange men following Jack down to the screens.

"Not by us, PC Cooper," Sherlock sneered at her. "It's good to see you're as clever as ever."

"Do I know you?"

Jack chuckled. "How far are you displaced Sherlock? A week?"

"Two. Your Meter Maid and Coffee Boy came to your rescue by blowing up our flat."

"No, we didn't," Ianto frowned. "Jack, you're covered in sand."

"But they…would have?" John asked. "If Jack had been gone for two weeks?"

"Right," Sherlock nodded at him, smiling slightly. "I imagine Moriarty got bored of waiting and sent them the clue eventually."

"Moriarty is a person?" Jack asked.

Sherlock frowned. "Obviously. What did you think it was?"

"Not a clue," Jack said, turning the screen for him. There were small squiggles running across the screen, flipping and turning as the human made computer struggled with their complexity. John thought they looked a bit like runes, or perhaps the nonsensical letters a small child might try to pass off as a letter. Sherlock was peering at them, his head slightly tilted as brief comprehension crossed his face.

"This is High Gallifreyan," Sherlock mused. "Where did you get this?"

"Yesterday a letter arrived upstairs in our cover store, addressed to 'The Idiots Who Believe Their Base Is a Secret', Care of Jack Harkness. It was one page of these symbols, signed 'Moriarty'. I honestly thought that was some new race of Aliens we hadn't heard of, so we scanned the symbols into this translator. We acquired it from the Raxacoricophalapiturians last year as part of a peace treaty— it's supposed to be able to translate any language in less than an hour. It's been running for twenty-four hours straight, and it hasn't cracked a single letter."

"You might as well stop the program, it'll just overload it. Did you call my father?"

"I tried last night, just before…I can't remember what happened after that."

"Jack," Ianto said again, "why are you covered in sand?"

Jack smiled at him. "I'm okay, really. I wasn't there too long."

John saw something— just for a second—a small look exchanged between Jack and the panicked man behind him. His eyebrows raised for a second, not used to being the one making deductions. He wondered if Sherlock had noticed whatever was between them. Well, obviously, he supposed if he had noticed his flat-mate had already deduced their anniversary, ages, and differences in weight.

"Can you read it, Sherlock?" Jack asked, breaking through John's thoughts.

Sherlock frowned, squinting harder at the squiggles. He sighed in frustration rubbing at his forehead.

"Are you okay?" John asked as Sherlock winced.

"It's like…It's like reading a waterproof book at the bottom of a swimming pool in the sunlight. Technically possible, but really difficult, and it hurts my eyes. Have you tried calling Mycroft? He's more alien than me, he could probably read it better than I can."

"I called him first, he didn't answer."

Sherlock frowned. "And the Doctor didn't answer either?"

Jack shrugged. "That's not so unusual. They might always answer when you boys call, but the rest of the universe isn't so lucky."

Sherlock wasn't paying attention, already searching through the contacts in his mobile. He dialed and waited nearly a full minute, listening to the dull ringing on the other side of the line. No one answered.

"John, dial my parents."

John snorted, "Sherlock, if you can't get ahold of them then I certainly can't—hey!" he objected as Sherlock pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed a long number.

"Never once in my life has my mother not answered a phone call from my number. She was running from a Shifter once, answered me mid-sprint and told me to hold for a minute." He dialed Mycroft's number on his phone. "If they aren't answering, something is either stopping them or the signal."

Mycroft's line rang dully, echoing through the speaker in a suddenly quiet room. They all stared at the device and waited for someone to answer. There was a click as it moved to voicemail. The recording was silent for a moment, the faint sound of someone breathing on the other line. Finally, one voice came over the phone—one sing-song, familiar voice.

"Sherrrrr-looock," Moriarty called from the phone. The beep sounded immediately afterwards, but Sherlock had already tossed his phone to the ground, grabbing the computer screen and staring at it, fighting back against the aching in his skull.

John knew the look on his face, the quiet terror mixed with that sick sense of intellectual curiosity that infuriated him sometimes. "Sherlock," John asked cautiously, "what's going on?"

"Mycroft's in trouble, and my parents are being blocked from us somehow," he growled. "Two weeks—two weeks! How could I not have noticed what was happening right in front of me? God!" he winced, covering his eyes from the screen.

"Can you get any of it?" Ianto asked.

"I don't need advice from the Coffee Boy!" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock." Jack warned, calmly.

The younger man sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry. That was Moriarty on Mycroft's voicemail. There's no telling how long he's had him. This message is our only clue. It hurts. It's a short message really. Something like…I see my name in it… time, I recognize that symbol. Raised? Moved? I can't make it out."

"Raised?" Toshiko asked, biting her lip.

"What? Who are you? Stop talking." Sherlock snapped.

"Time's raised…" she continued. "Time's…Up…Sherlock?"

The lights in the hub went out.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes he wondered if he was going senile. He was old enough.

'Too easy', he'd think to himself. If he was senile he could hide behind his age. This was just his own insanity finally settling onto his shoulders like a worn coat, taking his shape and protecting him from the world outside his own head.

Even this body had gotten old. After his failed attempt as Harold Saxon he had wandered, traveling back and forth with a stolen vortex manipulator. Sometimes a new plan had occurred to him, a few times he had even laid the groundwork for another shot at politics or power, but they always fizzled out on their own.

He sat alone in his room, staring at the wall through eyes that had once seen the world more clearly. He doubted he had much more time. A few months, a year maybe, and this body would be finished. He wondered where he would go. The boy had ideas on how to prolong his existence again. Occasionally he caught himself wondering if any of it was worth it anymore. Mostly he just sat and wondered, now.

The boy came in now, grinning and talking animatedly about something. He wasn't listening.

"Well?" the boy asked.

"What?" the Master asked, turning as though he had only just noticed him.

The eyes darkened and some of the excitement drained from the boys face. He did not like to be ignored, and the Master knew this. The boy reminded him of himself when he was young, very young, and that unsettled him.

"We have him," the boy said more dully, but clearly pleased with himself. "Your instructions worked perfectly. Sherlock followed our little clue right into Torchwood and someone said the password. The whole place is locked down with him inside. Now," he said sharply, leaning towards the Time Lord with slitted eyes, "tell me how to use it."

The Master was silent a long moment, this time on purpose. He liked to remind the boy that this was going at his pace, that he was needed. "The Torchwood hub is impenetrable?"

"From inside and out."

"The other? You have him?"

"Mycroft is in our possession. He has not been very… helpful, unfortunately."

The Master raised an eyebrow.

"Not that we've been able to try too hard. I doubt he's comfortable, but he hasn't been harmed. It's time to move on to phase three."

"And the Doctor?"

"No sign. Your signal blocker is working, we tried him from Mycroft's phone."

The Doctor. That's what it always came down to anymore. There were billions of other planets for him to want, power to grab at every corner of the universe, but the Master wanted _his_ planet. They'd been through so much, and he no longer knew how to describe how he felt towards the Doctor. Friendship turned hatred turned into respect over time. Jealousy? Maybe. Jealousy that another being like himself had seemingly found peace with beings as weak as humans. Jealousy that the humans got the attention of the only other Gallifreyan in existence. Well, not the only…

"Saxon?" the boy asked, growing impatient. He insisted on that name. Couldn't stand to call him the Master.

"Have you checked Baker Street?"

"We had eyes watching him walk into Torchwood. We saw him descend, and got the alert it had been locked down. We're sure he's there."

"That's not what I asked. He showed up too quickly. You only took Jack Harkness last night, it hasn't even been long enough for his team to miss him."

"So?"

"So, I suspect it has been longer for Sherlock. A week at least, maybe more. He would take the manipulator back to find Jack Harkness. That means Sherlock Holmes is both inside Torchwood and at his flat right now. If any harm comes to the earlier man, it would cause a paradox the later would not survive. We wait."

Moriarty's thin composure snapped, and the Master was vaguely aware of his screaming tirade as he thought about the boys. By all means he should be sickened by them, and he had expected to be the first time he saw them.

It had been years ago, at least twenty or so, but he was bad with dates nowadays, and rarely followed time in a straight line. He'd been tailing the Doctor for no reason other than boredom. Occasionally he'd hear a rumor about some impossible thing someone had witnessed, a miracle that came just in time, or an angel that came into town bringing death and change with it. It was never hard to get information from those who had seen him, they were all too willing to talk about that 'wonderful man' and how grateful they were.

He knew about Rose Tyler. She'd been his companion through the Saxon affair, he'd held a gun on her before. He was unsurprised to hear accounts of the blonde girl that traveled with him to each place. The surprise came when he heard the first accounts of a toddler in her arms.

He'd scoffed at the tales at first. Eventually he decided that maybe Rose really had given birth, but it couldn't have anything to do with the Doctor. There was no precedent for a Time Lord and a human being able to conceive a child. After all, his time with Lucy Saxon had produced nothing but anger and resentments. Then the reports began to speak of a second child, and he began to doubt his certainty.

He was disgusted. For the Doctor to spend his life with lower life-forms was one thing, but to taint Gallifreyan blood with those of these ape descendants was beyond taboo. It was sick. The children had to be abominations, and his slow hobby of finding the Doctor took on new fervor. He had to confront him about this breach of nature, and if he ran into the children first them…. He was prepared to do what was needed.

_It was winter on Earth the day he saw them. He'd been walking quickly down a small square near Jackie Tyler's home. The shops were decked out in reds and greens, preparing to celebrate a holiday he had not bothered to learn about. He had not heard anything new that week, but thought perhaps Rose Tyler may come home for the festivities._

_Though he had his eyes peeled for the Doctor it was her he saw first. There stood Rose Tyler in a little purple parka, not thirty feet from him. She hadn't noticed him, she was looking through a rack outside a little shop. Before he could decide what to do, a small boy with bouncy black hair came running up to Rose's legs holding a nutcracker. The Master's breath caught in his throat._

_'_ _Would Grandma like this?' the boy asked his mother._

_'_ _Oh, I'm sure she would,' she said warmly, bending down to examine the toy._

_The Master stared at the child. He would never know, not even now, what primordial instinct the boy had triggered within him. It felt as though he was alone in a world full of animals, and now had found another intelligent being suddenly plopped in front of him. Another Time Lord. He was, quite suddenly, not alone. The child was beautiful, and more importantly it was one of his own kind._

_He saw the Doctor approaching from the inside of the shop and quickly concealed himself behind a nearby stand. Another child, older, trailed behind him. Another jolt, another sudden knowledge that his race was not dead. He could no longer hear them, but the Doctor said something and smiled at Rose Tyler, and they disappeared into the shop together. A moment later the little family left the shop holding bags of presents. The younger boy was in his father's arms, looking appreciatively at the gift he'd chosen for his grandmother._

_For so long now the Doctor had been his only link to home, and they couldn't stand to be around each other. The Master had long since accepted that his planet was gone and his people with it. Although he still couldn't stand humans he had no choice but to admit that adding their DNA with a Gallifreyans had not tainted it, it had made something new, something marvelous that shook him to his soul. He wondered if the humans could feel this. Did everyone who laid eyes on these Children of Time see all they could be and feel the centuries of potential pouring from their brand new minds? Surely the Doctor saw what he had at any rate…_

_The Doctor. That complicated things. They were enemies, and he knew they would fight again one day, if not today. Then what? Would he kill the Doctor if possible? Then what would happen to these new Time Lords just beginning their journey?_

_He understood from that moment that he had a duty. In the same way a person on a large life raft may pull another drowning person aboard, he had a duty to his own species to protect the lives of these new Time Lords. It was only the beginning, there were only four of them now, but that was twice as many as he thought had been alive only minutes ago. For the first time since the war, the Master felt hope._

"Saxon!" The boy pounded his fist on the desk in front of him. Snapping him back to the moment.

"What?"

"I said _how long_. How long are you going to make me wait to take what's mine? Ours?"

The Master thought a moment. "Keep eyes on Baker Street. When Sherlock disappears, you'll know his timestream has realigned and there is only one of him, trapped down inside Torchwood. Then and only then does phase three begin."

The boy settled a bit and straightened out his jacket. "Fine. I'm done dealing with delays, old man. This is the last time I wait-"

"Oh no, I doubt that," The Master snapped, suddenly feeling more lucid. "From where I'm sitting you seem quite dependent on my expertise, James. Believe I'm a doddering old man all you like, but remember you need me. If I gave you all the information you wanted this moment, right now, there would still be plenty to learn. Do you know how to defend your soon to be acquired planet from another planet? What's your nearest off-Earth enemy? How will you stop the Doctor when he does come? He will, by the way, no matter how long we delay the inevitable, he will always come back to Earth, especially these days. If you don't fear him, you're a fool. You will meet my demands and stop acting like an impatient child."

Moriarty said nothing. He stared down his nose at the old man, his face unreadable. Finally he spoke. "The Doctor blocked from communications, both Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes secured and unharmed. That's what you asked and I will have all that secured soon. I _won't_ wait again." He turned on his heel and left the old man there.

The Master went back to drifting in and out. He had waited long enough, now. The boys were grown. He wouldn't harm, them, and wouldn't let anyone else harm them, but they no longer needed the Doctor or Earth. It was time to strike.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dear God," John muttered, peering into the glass enclosure at the creature. "It's incredible. A real alien."

Sherlock snorted indignantly. "John, you live with an alien."

"I mean one that doesn't look human" he clarified. After three hours of trying every weapon in the base to break through the lockdown, they had eventually had to accept that there was no way to bust out. Toshiko was still trying to override the computer systems, but in the meantime Jack had been explaining to John just what it was Torchwood did.

"This one's a Weevil, we call it Janet," Jack said, beaming proudly as John stared at it in fascination.

"It's called a Solarangic Parasite, and they don't have names," Sherlock grumbled under his breath.

"Humans like to name things, Kid, we've talked about this," Jack said.

John glanced at the Captain nervously. "You keep calling him kid. Sherlock said you were family...are you human?"

Jack laughed. "Mostly. I've known Sherlock since he was a baby, though. I'm his Godfather."

"You look forty," John said flatly.

"Well thanks. You don't look so bad yourself," Jack winked.

"Jack, I said don't," Sherlock snapped.

Jack patted John on the back. "Say, John, why don't you go find Owen? He's a medical Doctor too, he's got some great diagrams of alien biology you might want to take a look at."

John headed up the stairs and Sherlock went to follow him. Jack caught a hold of Sherlock's coat, holding him back. They waited until the other man was out of earshot before Jack spoke.

"Alright, what's up with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You haven't been this snippy since you were six and found out Sea Lions aren't actually water-breathing lions."

Sherlock waved his arms. "My brother has been kidnapped, the Doctor is unreachable, and Moriarty is back. How should I be acting?"

"This doesn't have anything at all to do with the ultimatum you mother gave you?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You two cackle like hens! When did she even tell you?"

"About a week ago. Week from now. Both," he said, pausing a moment. "I hate split timelines, two sets of memories. Did he turn you down?"

"I haven't said anything."

Jack tutted. "I think Rose is pretty serious about this. A global threat isn't going to distract her. If I were you-"

"I was trying," Sherlock hissed. "I was trying to talk to him when your stupid Stormtroopers burst in and wrecked our flat!"

Jack smirked. "Really? Well, we're not going to interrupt you here. If we're really stuck down here, you have some time. We can make ourselves scarce-"

"I'm not doing it here. It's hardly the time."

"In other words, what if he says he's not interested and you're stuck with him."

Sherlock sighed.

"I could...you know, help. I could talk to him a little bit, maybe flirt a little, see what his deal is."

"Why does every member of this family think they have to get involved in my love life?" Sherlock growled.

Jack stared at him. "Oh my God. You love him?"

Sherlock just glared back at him.

Jack sighed. "We're just excited. We haven't...we haven't seen you care about something this much since you were a kid."

"You mean before I screwed everything up."

"You had a dark time. I've lived a long life, and had worse phases than you did. What's important is your back with us now. If John keeps you grounded you bet your ass we're going to be involved."

"Just, please don't try to help. I will get this over with in my own time."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

John flipped excitedly through the hand written medical book Owen had given him, taking in the various species he'd never seen before. Here he'd been, thinking he knew all there was to know about medicine, and now there were organs he didn't even know the name of, much less the function they provided. The man who had- who would have, he reminded himself- broken into his flat came to stand next to him.

"Can I get you some coffee, Dr. Watson?"

"I'd love some tea, if you have it."

Ianto nodded and brought him small cup, settling himself down across the table. "So, how do you know Jack?"

"Uh, I don't really," John said carefully. In the last few weeks he had slowly been getting better at working around Sherlock's family secrets. "He's Sherlock's old friend."

"Ah," Ianto nodded knowingly. "Yeah, he has a lot of those. He's not the one who got him pregnant that time, is he?"

John choked a little on his tea. "What? Sherlock? No...I didn't get that vibe. I think they're more like family."

"Oh," Ianto said. "Well, good. That's good."

John tapped his fingers awkwardly against the table. "You, um…" he struggled for words. "You and the Captain are together?"

Ianto sighed and rubbed the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "I think so. Jack is difficult to understand sometimes. He's not like any other person I've ever met. He's alien, but mostly human, and sometimes I can't tell which side is in charge."

John snorted. "I've been there."

"Is your boyfriend the same way?"

John stared at him and felt redness creep up his cheeks. "My...You mean Sherlock? Oh, no, he's just my flatmate. Well, I mean not just my flatmate, we're friends, good ones. In fact he's probably my best friend. He's brilliant, and we spend a lot time together, but...I'm not…"

"Gay?" Ianto asked. "Me neither. But look at us both."

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn't the first time someone had mistaken the two of them for a couple. At first, he'd never understood why someone would make that mistake. Lately though it had become more common. Even the Doctor, when he'd asked him to babysit the child-sized Sherlock, had assumed he was his boyfriend. One or two incidents he could brush off, but as it happened again and again he was starting to wonder what everyone seemed to be picking up on. Did they stand too close, or whisper too much?

"Sorry," Ianto shrugged innocently. "I must have assumed incorrectly."

The other man moved to stand but John caught him. "Could you tell me why? Why did you think that?"

Ianto shrugged. "You look at him the way I look at Jack. It's like he's the most fascinating thing in the room, and not to brag but, have you actually seen where you are?"

John nodded. "Thanks." Ianto wandered off and left the doctor to his thoughts. John flipped half-heartedly through the book, lost in thought. So it was the way he looked at Sherlock that caused the confusion, not anything they were doing together. That was important to know. It meant that any perceived affection was one sided. Even if he was interested in the detective, there was no indication that his feelings were reciprocated. He'd always thought Sherlock was a bit different, and now that he knew that for sure it wouldn't surprise him to learn that Gallifreyans were completely asexual and aromantic. Mycroft certainly gave off that impression.

Wait. The Doctor and Rose. John frowned. If it was alien genetics that changed the way Half-Gallifreyans looked at relationships, then why would the full-blooded Timelord himself be in a relationship with a human? There were only two beings in the universe like Sherlock, was it fair to say they would be exactly alike? Maybe it was just Mycroft himself he had no interest in romance, and Sherlock preferred...Not that it mattered, anyway.

Ianto was heading back towards the kitchen when Jack caught his arm. The Captain leaned in closely to the man's ear and whispered. "How did he react?"

Ianto smiled. "He was flustered, but didn't argue much."

"You think Sherlock has a chance?"

"Maybe. He should go for it."

Jack nodded. "He better."

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"Rose!" the Doctor called.

The human in question groaned and pushed her face further into the pillow, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep. If she could just pretend she hadn't heard him maybe she could-

"Rose?" he called again, poking his head around the corner into their bedroom. "Oh, you're awake, good. Have you seen my reading glasses?"

"I haven't seen anything, my eyes are closed," she grumbled groggily.

"I mean recently. Last night maybe? I could have sworn I had them on Woman Wept, I couldn't read the hieroglyphics without them. Rose, can you hear me?"

She groaned noncommittally. The bed depressed beside her and she knew he had crawled under the covers with her. Long familiar arms snaked around her middle and she happily rolled over and rested her head against his shoulder. He waited a few long moments before whispering, "Slow waking for the human this morning?"

She nodded. "I couldn't sleep all night."

"Again? It's been weeks."

"I know," she sighed. "I just can't get comfortable."

He smirked. "Maybe you're pregnant again."

She shivered. "Don't even joke. Twice was plenty. Besides I slept fine with Sherlock, it was just Mycroft that kept me awake."

He held her for a long moment, letting her wake up against him. Finally he squeezed her shoulder. "Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you seen my reading glasses?"

She chuckled once, and her hand snuck underneath his suit jacket. She searched around for a few moments, and then pulled it out holding the spectacles. "These glasses?"

"Oh," he blinked at them strangely. "I could have sworn I checked there."

"You never check the left side. Silly Old Man," she smiled placing a kiss against his neck.

"You want pancakes?" he asked.

"With blueberries."

"Mycroft's favorite?"

"I had a dream about him. We haven't seen him since that the Weeping Angel incident, I'll ask him to come to breakfast."

"Of course," he said, giving her another gentle squeeze as he hopped out of bed. "Let me know if he's free and get a time and place, I'll pick him up."

She nodded and pulled out her cellphone, hitting the second speed dial. It wasn't until the seventh ring that she started to get worried. Mycroft was always busy, but he answered her calls eventually. When it went to voicemail she sat up, listening attentively to the message.

"You've reached Mycroft Holmes' private number. If you have a security clearance below Level Twenty, hang up immediately. If this is Sherlock, I did not take your cigarettes, stop asking. If this is Mother, send Uncle Jack my best and I promise I'm eating all of my celery. If this is any other family member, I will return your message shortly." There was a beep, but Rose was hanging up and throwing on clothes for the day.

The Doctor was pouring pancakes onto the stove when she made her way out of the bedroom. "Doctor, listen to this," she said, redialing Mycroft. She let the phone ring several times, then pressed the speaker so they could hear the message.

The Doctor shrugged sadly. "Ah, well, we can't expect them home every time we get the inclination, eh? If you had your way they'd still live here full time."

"I mean the voicemail," Rose said. "He's changed it. It doesn't sound like him."

"Really? It sounded like his voice to me."

"Not the voice, the words. Why would he ask me to send Jack his best?"

"You do call him a lot," the Doctor reasoned, but his face was starting to mirror his concern.

"And what about celery? When have I ever had to fight Mycroft on eating vegetables? Why say something like that?"

The Doctor paled. "I used to carry celery, a long time ago. I wore it on my lapel, and if it turned purple I knew the air was poison to Gallifreyans. He's done a lot of research on my time on Earth, he could know that."

"He's sending us a message," Rose said, but the Doctor was already turning off the stove and taking a bite out of his only finished pancake.

"Let's go."

The TARDIS was still kept in the same place it always was while they were at home. The need to park it in one place was long since over, but the couple had found they liked to spend more and more time in the old house together. The place was emptier physically, but full of memories they wanted to keep alive.

The Doctor was at the console in a minute while Rose tried Sherlock's number. There were several long rings, and then nothing. Not even a voicemail. Her heart started to pound a little faster.

"Rose," the Doctor said, horror dawning over his face. "Something's wrong."

"I know, they always answer," she said, dialing again.

"Not with the phones, with the TARDIS," the Doctor turned to her, the color draining from his face. "It's not responding."

"What do you mean?"

"We're stuck here," he said, slapping at the dash in frustration. "The boys are in trouble, and we're trapped."


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor was underneath the floorboards or the TARDIS, throwing wires up over his head as he dug around. The lights blinked on and off sequentially Rose could hear bangs somewhere deep in the old ship. She tried the doors for the tenth time, but they had sealed tight of their own accord, and she couldn't get through.

“Doctor?” She called down. “What could be wrong with the TARDIS? It's never done this before.”

“She,” he said, muffled by the parts around him.

“What?”

He popped his head out, holding a small crystal in his hand. “The TARDIS isn't an it, Rose, she's a beautiful lady. Why don't you and the boys grasp this?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Fine, what's wrong with her? Is she too old?”

“Not nice to comment on a lady's age,” he smiled weakly, “but no. It's not just her, either. I think it's all three of us. We've been shoved into a pocket universe by something that doesn't want us going anywhere.”

Rose frowned

“Imagine...imagine time is like a set of train tracks. If a train is not on them, it doesn't have much hope of going anywhere. Someone’s derailed the TARDIS, and us with it. Even if we tried to run for civilization now, I'm not sure anyone could see us. We're out of sync.”

“What can we do?”

“The TARDIS doesn't belong in this pocket universe, it wants to right itself. You remember that time we got caught in that alternate universe with the Cybermen? I can charge it with regeneration energy, but only enough for one trip. We're splintered away from the normal time stream, the trip would take... some time, but eventually we'd meet up with the present.”

“How long?”

The Doctor scratched the back of his head. “Uh, ten years? Give or take?”

“Okay,” Rose said with a firm nod. “Ten years. I can do that. We have plenty of food and air. We stay here ten years, then we catch up to the boys and find them. I'll wait.”

The Doctor smiled grimly and took her hand. “I've no doubt you would, but that's not how it works. The TARDIS is her own dimension, the jump would be instantaneous for us.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“Someone has to be holding a piece of the TARDIS ten years from now in the exact place it is this moment so that we can lock onto it. We can't reach anyone on the phone, and we're trapped inside. There's a way we can do this, but it's risky.”

“I don't care, what do we need to do?”

“We let the TARDIS solve it. She’s trying to do something, but doesn't have the strength. I charge her up and let her do what she thinks she needs to.”

Rose nodded.

“You don't understand. She might think the best way to get back on track is to explode right now and use the scattered pieces to reconstitute in ten years. There's no telling what method she’ll take.”

“Let's go!” Rose said, slapping a hand against the console.

The Doctor grimaced, but nodded. He took the small crystal in his hand and blew on it gently. The crystal grew a pale green, and he set it back into the deep recesses of the ship. The TARDIS surged with life, the glass cylinders pumping as the cloister bell echoed through the room. The Doctor took his wife's hand and pulled her back from the chaos, bracing himself for whatever his ancient friend was about to do.

The room grew very bright, and the bell became louder. They squeezed their eyes closed tight and waited. Slowly, the intense brightness started to fade and the ship went silent. A very small voice came from around the console.

“Hello?”

The couple blinked, edging around the room to find the source of the voice. A young girl with very red hair stood in a polkadotted nightdress, staring at them with wide eyes. 

The Doctor bent down to her height and waved with a wide smile. “Hello there. What's your name?”

She looked torn between approaching them and running away. “Amelia Pond.”

“Oh, that's lovely,” he said. “Can you tell me where you live, Amelia?”

“You're not supposed to tell strangers where you live,” she snapped, sounding braver than she looked.

The Doctor nodded. “That's a very good policy, very smart, but could you tell me if you live on Earth?”

“Course I do. Everyone does.”

The Doctor and Rose shared a knowing look. “Definitely Scottish accent then, right? Bit far from here for a child.” she whispered to him.

“I don't live in Scotland anymore,” the girl said crossing her arms. “I live in Leadworth with Aunt Sharon.” She froze. “Or not, it's none of your business.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Amelia. My name is the Doctor, and this is my wife, Rose. I don't think you'll be here long, so we have to talk fast.” He pulled out a key and held it up for her to see. “We need your help.”

The girl took a step back from the key. Rose put a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, an old signal between them that he was being too intimidating and the situation called for a human touch. He stepped back and Rose smiled at the girl. “You live with your Aunt, Amelia? Where are your parents?”

The girl stood firmly. “My parents are gone. The crack swallowed them up.”

The Doctor made an interested noise, but Rose held out a hand to remind him there were bigger issues right now. “I have two sons. Would you like to see them?”

The girl nodded.

Rose reached into her back pocket and fished out an old picture of the four of them with Jackie Tyler. “This is an old picture. Sherlock was just a baby, and my older one, Mike, he was a few months away from seven.”

Amelia inspected the picture. “They're cute.”

“Thank you,” Rose smiled. “I'm worried about them. They're in trouble, and I want to go help them, but me and their Daddy are trapped here. Do you think you could do us a favor so we can find them?”

Amelia thought a moment, and then slowly nodded.

The Doctor held out the key again. “In about ten years, this key is going to start to glow. If you go in the right direction it’ll glow brighter and brighter. Follow it, and it'll lead you to an old house in the country. Go to the tool shed, and we'll be able to meet you and go find our boys.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” she said with narrowed eyes, taking the key gently.

The Doctor opened his mouth to explain, but with a flash of light the girl was gone. Rose felt at the empty air she'd just stood in, frowning worriedly at him. “A little girl? Why would the TARDIS send a little girl?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It doesn't really have a frame of reference for how long humans live. Probably figured if it chose an underdeveloped human they would have a better chance of still being alive in ten years.”

“Do you think she'll do it?”

Before he could answer, they were met with the old familiar sound of the engine screeching as they took off. The TARDIS tilted dangerously back and forth and struggled to stay upright. “Amelia Pond!” The Doctor clapped. “Remind me to get her something. What do little girls like? Or I suppose she's not so little anymore?”

“Doctor!” Rose yelled and she nearly hit the ground.

He caught her and they took hold of the railing, riding out the violent trip. The bell finally rang once more, and then the ground was solid beneath their feet. The Doctor ran to the doors and threw them open. Just outside the TARDIS stood a very surprised looking young woman with bright red hair, holding the TARDIS key in her hand.

“Oh my God,” she said, dropping the key. “You're real. It was real. What the--”

The Doctor swept her up into a big hug. “Amelia Pond!” he cried happily. “How long's it been for you, eh? Ten years?”

“T-twelve,” she stuttered.

“Ah, pretty close,” he shrugged. He frowned at her outfit. “Are you a police woman? Kind of young for that, aren't you?”

“Maybe,” she said, crossing her arms in the same definitely way she had as a child. “Not that it matters. I was at work when your little key went all shiny. I'm probably going to get fired.”

“Sorry,” Rose waved bittersweetly from the door, “but thank you.”

“I’m coming back for you, Amelia Pond,” the Doctor said resolutely, tapping her once on the nose. “We're going to talk about that crack that took your parents.”

“What crack? I don't have parents.”

“Interesting,” the Doctor mused. “Very interesting. Can't today though, family emergency. See you soon, Amelia.”

“It’s Amy, now!” She called at him as he closed the door on her.

“I prefer Amelia!” She heard him call back. The little blue box faded away with the same screeching whine, leaving her with more questions than before.

Rose held the Doctor’s arm as they took flight. “Where do we start?”

“'Give my best to Uncle Jack’, that's what Mycroft’s message said. Sounds like we're starting at Torchwood.”

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

 

Brigadier Harold Carter was shaving for work, listening to his wife encourage his children to get up, when his mind went completely blank. His old pocketwatch, the one his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday, lay on the sink in front of him. It opened on it's own, a dull light came from it, and then his mind was gone. A voice echoed in his head, one he'd never heard before.

_ “Hello, Brigadier,” _ the voice said calmly.  _ “My name is James. You’re going to do what I tell you to aren’t, you?” _

“Yes, Sir,” the man said. He tried to fight, tried to figure out why he was accepting this strange intruder, but his will was weakened. His razor dropped uselessly into the basin and the water continued pouring down the sink. 

_ “I prefer Sire.” _

“Yes, Sire.”

_ “Good. I want you to get dressed, and go to work. At your desk, there will be a piece of paper with an exact address on it. Drive there, and await further instructions.” _

The pocketwatch snapped shut, and so left the last bit of strength Harold had to deny the powerful voice.

“Yes, Sire.”

Harold put the watch calmly in his pocket and put on his uniform, leaving the house with shaving cream still on his neck. He heard the man laughing gleefully somewhere in the back of his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

Rory Williams was good at his job, that much he was sure of. He never skipped over the comatose patients like other young nurses he knew; he went to them one by one to make sure their vitals were nominal and their breathing was even. Still, coma patients weren't much for conversation, and he often found his mind wandering. Today, like most days, his thoughts kept snapping back to a loud, red-haired young woman with bright green eyes.  _ 'Like emeralds’ _ , he thought.  _ 'No, that's no good. Say that to Amy and she'd laugh. Like grass maybe? No that's wrong.’ _

He was so lost in his own imagination he almost ran her over. Suddenly there she was, still in her work clothes at noon on a Saturday, grinning at him maniacally.

“Amy?” He asked. “What are you--”

“You remember the Doctor and Rose? From when we were kids?”

“Thin Man and Blonde Woman? Your imaginary friends? I ought to, we went as them for Halloween three times. You said I never had his hair right.”

“They're real. I met them. Again.”

Rory glanced around carefully. “Amy,” he said gently, “I thought you and Dr. Baker worked this out a long time ago. You were just replacing your parents with a magic couple who wanted to find their lost son.”

“ _ Sons _ . They have two. I knew that quack was full of it.  _ 'That’s just a key, Amy Dear, it'll never glow.’ _ Well it did. This morning at eight it lit up like a firework and guided me to the house in the country. I found them!”

Rory scratched his head. “Okay, then what did they say?”

Her face fell. “They said ‘thank you’. Then they left.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugged. “The Doctor said he'd come back for me.”

“The last time he said that it took him twelve years to get here,” Rory reminded her. “Are you going to wait twelve more years for that key to glow again?”

Amy stood in that defiant way that made him smile. “I might. I will if I have to.” Her hand went to pull at the old TARDIS key she kept around her neck, a habit she'd only picked up again this morning.

“Uh, Amy?” Rory gaped at her, shock etched over his features.

“What?”

“It's glowing. It's glowing right now.”

Amy pulled the key off her neck. It was shining a dull orange light, nothing like the bright starlight streaming from it earlier that day, but there was light nonetheless. “Oh my God!” She grinned, grabbing his arm. “We have to follow it!”

“Now?” He said, glancing at the clock. “I'm working.”

Amy wasn’t listening. They were already halfway down hall when she stopped pulling him and stared at the key in her hand.

“It stopped,” he said flatly as she turned it over in her hand.

“Maybe...maybe it's just an after effect. Like aftershocks once an earthquake has passed,” she muttered.

Amy followed Rory back towards the ward, and the key lit up again. She took experimental steps backwards and forwards, watching the glow grow and shrink.

Rory took the key gently. “It's like a metal detector. It only lights up in here.”

They walked down the line of patients as the light grew stronger. It was brightest at the foot of a man’s bed, but as they walked on it dimmed. They slowly returned to the bed, taking in the form of the comatose patient lying in it.

“Rory?” She asked. “Who is that?”

“No idea,” he shrugged. “He was found like this a few days ago in the street. Only had what was in his pockets, a few pound notes and an old pocketwatch, no ID. No signs of consciousness since, and no one has reported him missing.”

Amy took the key back and moved it toward him slowly. A dull light shone on his chest. She moved his hospital gown away and on his skin, hanging from a chain, lay a golden key. It was just like the one in her hand, but obviously newer. The word 'MYCROFT’ was engraved on it in a beautiful swirling script, and it glowed as brightly as it's twin.

“How could we have missed that?” Rory frowned.

“I think,” she said slowly, “it's hidden. It feels like the house where I found the Doctor and Rose. I knew it was there, they key proved it, I just didn't want to look at it.”

“Like it's best not to acknowledge it,” Rory agreed, trying to keep his eyes on the key but finding it difficult.

Amy slowly reached her hand out to the key.

The man woke immediately, his hand flying up and catching Amy's the moment she touched the metal. She screamed and punched him in the face, causing him to cry out.

“What did you that for?” He yelled.

“You grabbed me!”

“A perfectly logical reaction to a thief,” he said accusingly.

“I'm not a thief!” She yelled back. “What are you doing with that key?”

“What key?” 

“The one on your neck! The one you attacked me for!”

The man frowned and his fingers found the key against his skin. “I don't…. I don't know.”

“Who are you?”

Mycroft shook his head slowly. “I have no idea. But something bad is going to happen. You must take me to Bayswater. Immediately.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was midnight in the hub. After five days of imprisonment in the secret base, they had fallen into a routine. There was a large area full of bunks, slightly uncomfortable ones, but they were definitely better than trying to squeeze onto the couches in the lounge. They would wake up and try to contact the Doctor, work on the frozen computer system, and speculate on what could be happening outside. There was plenty of time to sit and talk, drink coffee, and talk out their situation. It was a peaceful as a dangerous situation could be. Sherlock was going insane.

He glared at the clock for the fiftieth time, willing it to go faster. How could people do this? Time was bad enough in a straight line, but stuck like this? It stood absolutely still! John had insisted he needed to try to sleep tonight as he hadn’t for days. He tried to argue the point, reminding John that know that he knew he wasn’t human, old human routines like sleep did not apply to him. John didn’t agree, he said he always knew when Sherlock skipped nights of sleep because he was always irritable by the third day.

So far the point was moot, because he couldn’t sleep anyway. It felt as though the humans around him had been asleep for days now, but the clock insisted it had only been a few hours. He sat up and rubbed his face. What John didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He’d just pretend to have gotten a good night’s rest and try not to be grumpy in the morning.

Sherlock crept out of the room and searched for something,  _ anything _ to do. The medical books John was so fascinated by held very little interest for him; most of the information he knew to be misguided, and even if it wasn’t alien biology wasn’t something he cared about. He’d thought the texts of alien languages might kill some time, but found to his dismay that he could only see English on the pages; the TARDIS was still translating all foreign languages in his mind. He had no cigarettes and Jack had run out, so he couldn’t even distract himself by smoking. He moaned pitifully, trying once more to call his parents to find their number was still unreachable.

There was one interesting thing he could do.

He laid on the exam table at Owen’s station, taking a moment to try to think this through. Was he really so intensely bored that he could tell John the secret he’d been harboring about him? He spent what he thought was probably an hour weighing the pros and cons, then checked the clock. It had been seven minutes. 

He'd had enough.

Sherlock had the peace of mind to put a strong pot of coffee on and let it brew for a few minutes then snuck off back to the bunks to gently shake John awake.

“John?” He whispered softly. “I need help with something.”

John huffed, waking with a sigh and a grimace. Still, he sat up and pulled on his old shoes, letting the detective drag him away from the others’ sleeping forms. Sherlock set him down at a small table and quickly made him a cup of coffee, making sure to add the sugars he knew the man preferred.

John muttered out a 'thanks’ and sipped at it. “Has the Doctor called back? Should we get Jack?”

“No,” he said quickly, wanting to keep Jack Harkness as far away from this as possible. “I just needed to speak with you.”

John frowned. “Sherlock, it's three in the morning. Couldn't you have waited until sunrise to bounce ideas off someone?”

“You can't see the sun from down here,” Sherlock started to argue, but then quickly changed his tone when he saw the other man's annoyed expression. “I know it's late, sorry. I just wanted to speak alone, before anyone else is awake.”

John nodded, seeming to accept this quicker than the other man expected. “Okay. I knew this conversation was coming.”

“You did?”

“Yes. This is about your parents.”

Sherlock’s heart beat faster. He was suddenly very aware of the air surrounding him, of the infernal ticking clock and the steady March of seconds around him. What had he been thinking? This was a delicate subject, and he he'd gone stumbling into like he always did when a situation required decorum. “Well...in a way I suppose it is,” he admitted.

“I know you have to say this part, but Mycroft beat you to it last week. You know I'd never tell anyone, right? I understand why you kept this from me for so long, but you don't need to worry. Your family is safe, I know how to keep a secret.”

“John that's not--”

“I get it,” the man assured him. “If I ever let this slip the people you care about would be in danger. I'm not offended or anything.”

“John, I'm in love with you.”

There was a pause. John's expression didn't change, but he leaned forward slightly. “Sorry, I didn't hear you.”

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You heard me correctly. I apologize. I hope this doesn't change your ability to live in our flat.”

John seemed to be frozen. He was staring at the detective, but didn't seem to be actually looking at him. After a long uncomfortable moment, he finally spoke. “Why would you…?”

“Tell you? My mother insisted. She was going to come forward without my consent, and I thought it would be best if you heard it from me. Again, I'm very sorry for the position this puts you in.”

John shook his head once. “No, I mean why would you...feel that way?”

Sherlock tilted his head curiously. “I don't understand the question.”

“What about me would ever make you…?” he trailed off.

“You're asking...why I love you?” He finally realized. “John, you--”

The familiar screech of the TARDIS echoed through the base. 

Sherlock jumped to his feet immediately yelling for Jack and his team. The little blue box appeared not far from them, and the second it was solid the door popped open and a frantic Rose Tyler ran out. Her fear melted into relief when she saw Sherlock, and she ran forward to wrap him in a hug. Sherlock draped an arm around her, but his eyes dropped back on John. The man gave a tight smile, the kind that holds back a thousand things that need to be said, but not here and not now. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

At a small unassuming hotel in Bayswater, a desk worker named David was getting more and more nervous. There had been no mention from his supervisors of a conference or event happening, but the rooms were booking up faster than he'd ever seen them with guests he'd never met before. 

What strange guests they were too; mostly soldiers, he gathered, either from their uniforms or the curt way they carried themselves, as though each of them were on a mission. They came to him, checked into their rooms with minimal words, then immediately went to settle in. He wanted to ask one of them what was going on, but they all seemed to be on official business, and he was too intimidated.

Finally one man checked in who did not seem quite so terrifying. He came waltzing in to take the very last room for himself and an elderly man whom he pushed in a wheelchair. He slapped the counter jovially and informed David all rooms were not to be disturbed, and that he'd be needing their meager conference room first thing in the morning.

“Sir, I'm afraid the room will be too small to house all your guests’” he said nervously. “There are larger hotel chains I could direct you towards that I believe could be of more use to you.”

“We like our privacy,” the man said, sliding a fifty-pound note to him. “Size is not a concern.”

“Yes, Sir. What name shall I put the reservation under?”

“Richard Brook,” he said, a smile spreading across his face, “and his companion.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Brook.” David leaned forward conspiratorially. “May I ask what this meeting is for if it's not too classified?”

Mr. Brook leaned in, glancing at his nametag. “Have you ever been out of the country, David?”

“No, Sir.”

He chuckled. “If you'd like to see the world, I'd hurry.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long chapter, I just couldn't find a good place to cut it. There's some bad stuff ahead, but don't worry I love these guys too much to kill them.

He had time to think on the long drive to London. He was logical man, or so he assumed. At least his mind seemed to be trying to organize his situation in the way he imagined a logical man would. Mycroft, which he assumed was his name due to the engraved key around his neck, was trying to start from the basics and build his memory up from there.

He was human, right? That was a stepping stone. Yet...he wasn't sure that was entirely right. If he placed his hand over his right side he could almost feel a second, small heart beat, which was decidedly not normal. Not that he was keen to tell his driving companions that. 

There was something vitally important and monumentally bad happening in Bayswater. That was the first thought he'd had upon waking, and the only one he was sure of. But what sort of man woke up in hospital beds with no memory and a vague sense of doom like this? He sighed. An insane one of course. All signs pointed to it, he must be mentally ill and in the midst of a delusion. Why else would he have willingly gotten into a car with this madwoman?

There was another loud honk and Mycroft let out a gasp as Amy came uncomfortably close to another car she was passing. “Good God, Miss Pond, we've just left a hospital. Why are you in such a hurry to return to one?”

She snorted. “What happened to 'get me to Bayswater as fast as you can’? If you want to be so snarky why don't you drive?”

He gaped at her. “I can't even remember if I have the ability, much less a license.”

“Then stop bellyaching,” she snapped. “We’ll be there before sunrise.”

“We'd have been there sooner if you hadn't gotten lost twice.”

“I've never driven to London before, think you can do better?”

He sighed. “No.”

“I thought so,” she shook her head. “I don't know why you carry the Doctor’s key. He's at least interesting, if late. You've just managed to be a pain in my--”

“What doctor?”

“ _The_ Doctor. The one who lives in the magic blue box with his wife.”

“Oh My Lord, she's actually insane,” he muttered to himself.

“Any idea what we’re going to do when we get there?”

He shook his head in frustration. “I've been thinking what I would do if I knew my memory was being taken from me. I believe I'd leave myself a clue.”

“Rory!” Amy called. 

The sleepy nurse popped up from the backseat, rubbing his eyes. Job security be damned, he had refused to let Amy run off on a strange mission to London with a madman without coming with her. He yawned. “Yeah?”

“What did Mycroft have on him when he was found again?”

Rory pulled out the small paper bag he'd brought with them and dug into it. “Three quid and a watch.”

“Three,” Mycroft repeated, trying to force his Swiss-cheesed mind to work. “That must be the clue. What come in threes? Musketeers? Kings? Maybe I'm telling myself to look at King’s Cross Station. That's not in Bayswater though.”

“What about the pocketwatch?” Amy asked.

“Hmm? Oh, that's not important,” he shrugged her off. “Perhaps it's the three leaves of the--”

“How do you know it's not important?” She persisted.

“It's just an old watch, I've had it for ages.”

“You remember that, do you?”

“Yes, I--” he paused, his face going blank. “How could I? How could I remember having that watch for years when I don't remember anything?”

Amy smirked. “Bingo.”

He took the watch from Rory, turning it over in his hands. “That is an excellent thought, Miss Pond.”

She waited. “Well, go on, open it up.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over it. Finally he clicked the lock open, and a beam of orange light filled the car. Amy shrieked and jerked the car to the side of the road, earning her more angry honks and shouts from fellow motorists.

“What's happening?” Rory yelled.

“I don't know, he just--”

And then the light was gone. It was just Mycroft sitting there. He gasped loudly and his face was as pained as if it had only just come up for air after hours underwater.

“Mr. Mycroft?” She asked hesitantly. “What was that?”

He smiled at her. “Truly an exceptional thought you had there, Miss Pond. Now please, pass me your phone. We have to warn the Doctor.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

“This is high Gallifreyan,” the Doctor said with a frown as he peered over Toshiko's shoulder at the message that had locked down the base. “You say you think it came from James Moriarty?”

“Obviously not him alone,” Sherlock said. “He had help from someone who knows a lot about Timelord technology. It wasn't me, and if Mycroft hasn't finally become a supervillain and kidnapped himself, I assume that leaves only one suspect.”

“But why now?” Rose asked, leaning against the desk. “The Master’s been quiet for so many years, why attack us?”

The Doctor just shrugged.

Rose narrowed her eyes. “You know something about this, don't you?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don't… I don't think he was attacking us. The last time we spoke he said Sherlock and Mycroft--”

“You spoke to him?” Rose said accusingly. “You've seen the Master since the boys have been alive and didn't tell me?”

“I thought it would only worry you,” he admitted. “And we weren't in any danger. I ran into him a few decades ago. Well, more like he found me. He told me he'd seen the boys, and that they fascinated him. He told me to take care of them.”

“Why?” Rose asked.

“Instinct, I think. I feel it when I see them, too. There are so few of us left, any piece of Gallifrey that still exists must be protected. If the Master is involved in this, and he locked Sherlock down here, it was probably for his own protection.”

“So are we locked down for good?” Jack asked.

“Oh, no,” the Doctor shrugged. “I can fix this. Might take me a few days. More importantly the TARDIS can pop in and out.”

Rose’s phone rang and she answered immediately. Her eyes lit up. “Mycroft?” She grabbed the Doctor’s arm and put it on speaker. “Mike! Oh thank God, we thought you’d been taken.”

_ “I was,” _ he said gravely. _ “What’s the date?” _

“July seventh,” Gwen called.

“Aw, Mike,” Rose smiled sadly, “Happy birthday.”

_ “Then I was taken about seven days ago. I was held in a remote location I believe, I was unconscious during transport. James Moriarty was--” _ There was the sound of him struggling with the phone and arguing with someone.

“Mycroft?” the Doctor called worriedly.

_ “Doctor?” _ a female voice came through the phone.  _ “Is this the Doctor and Rose?” _

The Timelord grinned. “Is that Miss Amelia Pond I hear?”

_ “Doctor,” _ she continued,  _ “I found this guy in a coma ward and he swears he knows who you are. Can I trust him? He gives off this strange Hannibal Lecter vibe--” _ There was the sound of another struggle followed by ‘for heaven’s sake I’ll put it on speaker, Miss Pond’, before her voice returned.  _ “I just mean is he might be a lunatic who managed to steal a key, you know?” _

Rose laughed. “Mycroft is our son, Amelia.”

She scoffed.  _ “You said your son was seven!” _

“I also said it was an old picture,” Rose said defensively.

“Mycroft, why were you in a coma ward?” the Doctor asked.

_ “I was left in a street, apparently. With amnesia. And a pocket watch.” _

The Doctor nodded grimly. “That makes sense. More Timelord technology, the Master would have access to it all, and losing your memory would get you comfortably out of the way of whatever their planning.”

_ “The Master? He’s involved in this?” _

“Must be. You never saw him?”

_ “I can’t remember much after the first call he forced me to make to Sherlock. He made me leave an outgoing voicemail to make it appear nothing was wrong, I tried to slip as many clues in as I could. He made a joke about someone being ‘extremely hard to kill,’ so I assumed Jack might have some answers. He kept me for at least a few days.” _

“But why?” Rose asked. “If they just needed to erase your memory why keep you?”

Mycroft paused.  _ “Well...Information, Mother.” _

She didn’t seem to understand for a moment, then rage blossomed over her face. “What did they do to you?”

_ “Nothing that I couldn’t live through, obviously.” _

“I’m going to kill them both,” she said solemnly. There wasn’t a soul in the room who doubted her.

“What did you tell them?” Sherlock asked.

They heard him sigh.  _ “Names. I remember being asked for names of certain government and military officials, and the details about their lives that I remembered. I did not hear much, but I remember hearing about a hotel in Bayswater.” _

“Then that’s where we’re going,” the Doctor nodded. “Where are you, Mycroft? I’ll come pick you up.”

_ “Don’t worry about me, we’ll be in London in a few hours. Get to the area and see if you can find them.”  _ There were some sounds of protesting from Amy, but the he ended the call.

“We’re a hundred percent at your service, Sir,” Jack said with a salute to the Doctor.

“Good, because we have no idea which hotel to start with. Everyone in the TARDIS, we’ve got some work to do.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

They mostly paired off into twos to start their scouring of Bayswater and the surrounding areas, but Rose had insisted she wasn’t letting her son out of her sight again, and it wasn’t questioned that John would be with Sherlock. The night was just starting to turn into twilight, and the cool morning air nipped at the four of them.

Rose was bundled warmly in Sherlock’s long black coat, which he insisted he didn’t need as temperature rarely bothered him. She deliberately walked a bit slowly as she took his arm so that they dropped behind the other two. “So,” she whispered, “have you given any thought to my suggestion about John?”

“You mean your ultimatum,” he stated flatly. “Yes. I’ve already told him, so there’s no need for whatever intervention you’re secretly planning.”

She stared at him with a disbelieving grin. “You actually told him? What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

Her face dropped. “What? Nothing?”

“That’s what I said.”

Her jaw set and she started to pick up speed. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!”

“No,” he said quickly, catching her. “He didn’t...I mean he didn’t really have time to say much.”

“Why not?”

He gestured to the Doctor’s back. “You two showed up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sherlock. Do you think you’ll talk to him again?”   
“Rose?” the Doctor called suddenly. “Let’s try this little inn. Sherlock, why don’t you and John go check out the one down the street?”

Sherlock just nodded and caught up with them, and he and John headed down the way. Rose took the Doctor’s hand as she fell into step beside him. “Could you hear us?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t believe John could though. Maybe if we just send them off on their own they’ll work this out.”

“I certainly hope so,” she sighed.

If Sherlock saw through his parent’s attempt to get them alone together he made no indication of it. The moment they were alone together, however, they were both very aware of how quiet it had become. The walk towards the unassuming little hotel was a short one, but it felt as though they were walking there through thick sand. After a long moment John finally cleared his throat. “It’s been a long, strange night, eh?”

Sherlock let out a deep chuckle. “I suppose.”

“I can’t wait to get through this and sleep in my own bed for again. After we’ve stopped Moriarty of course.”

Sherlock paused. “You will be coming back to the flat, then?”

“Of course I am,” John nodded. There was a pause. Finally, he added, “We should talk, though. When we get home, I mean.”

Sherlock nodded like a man being handed his death sentence.

“You mentioned before that you thought I would move out. To be clear, I’m not going to.”

“Oh,” he said simply, pulling open the door for the shorter man.

“Just, I don’t want you thinking that’s what this is about. I think it’s--”

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

They’d entered the small lobby and a young man with glasses stood behind the reception desk, eyeing them warily. John smiled at the man, glancing at his nametag. “Hello, David. We have some questions for you.”

“Oh,” the man breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you were another military man. We’re already booked solid.”

John smirked and pulled his identification out of his pocket. “Captain John watson, actually.”

“Oh,” his face fell. “I’m sorry, Sir, but as I said, I don’t believe I can fit you in. There are no available rooms left. However, if you can find other lodgings we can arrange transportation for you back for the meeting in the morning.”

“What meeting?” Sherlock asked. “I mean, yes, we’re here for it of course. What time will this meeting be held?”

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and when they all turned they saw a tall man, a lieutenant by the look of his uniform. The man stared at them blankly, as if there was nothing behind his eyes. The hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stood up. He immediately pulled out his phone and subtly texted his mother ‘SOS’.

David let out a sigh of relief, seemingly blind to the Lieutenant's strangeness. “Excuse me?” he asked. “Captain Watson needs to know when the meeting is in the morning. Can you help him?”

The man blinked once, taking a long time to answer. “Yes.” He turned and walked back up the stairs without another word.

“Sir?” David asked in nervous confusion, but the man did not turn around. He disappeared around the corner, heading toward the guests’ rooms.

The Doctor and Rose were at the door in moments, a bit out of breath from running. Sherlock gave his father a slight nod and tilted his head towards the stairs. The Doctor nodded and pulled his psychic paper from his jacket. He held it up towards the flustered desk clerk. “Special Police, we need you to vacate the area.”

David frowned. “The hotel is full, if we have to start evacuation procedures--”

“Just you,” Sherlock said, quickly pushing the confused man toward the door.

“Captain Watson?” A voice from the stairs asked. The lieutenant was back.

John turned his head. “Yes?”

The lieutenant pulled a pistol from his jacket. 

There was very little time to act. Rose screamed when she saw the gun, and David ran from the building. The Doctor grabbed John, jerking him to the side, behind him, as the gun fired. Sherlock was up the stairs in an instant, wrestling the gun from the man and slamming it into the side of his head, dropping him. He turned, praying to the universe that John hadn’t been hit, not now, not just when they finally--

John was standing very still, staring at the Doctor. Blood was beginning to spread across the alien’s chest.

\----------------------------------------------------

 

“Why?” the Master shouted at his young accomplice.

James Moriarty winced again. His nerves were already frayed from Lieutenant Bohn informing him that Sherlock’s little friend was downstairs asking questions, and the old man wasn’t helping. He ignored the Timelord’s question as he gathered together every weapon he’d brought with him. He was fairly confident his new soldiers would deal with the intruders in the lobby, but on the off chance they made it upstairs he was going to be ready.

“Answer me, Boy! If Sherlock Holmes is trapped beneath Torchwood, how is his companion in the building at this very moment?”

“We don’t know for sure Sherlock is here,” James replied calmly. “For all we know it’s not even the real John Watson.”

“Do we or do we not have confirmation that he is safe?” the Master barked.

“Enough!” James roared. He turned and gave the chair a hard shove, and the Master spilled out onto the floor. “I’ve had enough of you! I don’t care where Sherlock is right now. He can’t stop what we’ve set in motion. I’ll save him for later.”

The Master glared up at him. “If you harm him you’ll never get another word out of me.”

“Good,” James said flatly. He lifted the revolver in his hand and shot the old man without a moment of hesitation. Phase three was starting immediately, Timelords be damned.

He called out for assistance and two Majors appeared at his doorstep, saluting. “Clean up this mess,” he order, gesturing to the dying alien on the floor.

The Master knew he was fading fast. There was nothing left in him, no more chances at life. Strong hands grabbed him and dragged him away as though he were a bag of garbage, finally to be disposed of. ‘ _ Not like this _ ,’ he thought.  _ ‘After all I’ve done, the things I’ve seen, don’t let me die like this.’ _

That was when he felt it. Regeneration energy. Not his own, but from a powerful source somewhere nearby. He latched onto the excess, not bothering to second guess where it might be coming from. If there was enough being released into the air then perhaps, just maybe, he could use it himself. Every cell in his body began to vibrate. He smiled.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Doctor collapsed. John was on him in a second, trying to hold in the blood with his jacket. “Oh God!” he cried. “Sherlock, pressure, here, now!”

Sherlock snapped out of his daze and ran to them, holding the cloth tightly to the wound.

“Sherl...Sherlock…” the Doctor sputtered out, his face going pale. “TARDIS…”

John started ripping his shirt into strips to make a bandage, but his face was grave. “He was shot through the heart,” he stammered. “I don’t know how he’s even alive!”

“He has two,” Sherlock explained. “The other one is trying to compensate for the loss.”

Then there was Rose, leaning between them, grabbing at the Doctor’s face while she wailed. Already a hint of golden light seemed to shine through his pores. “No,” she gathered up the lapel of his suit, “Doctor, don’t.”

“Rose,” he coughed a bit. “TARDIS. You know…What happens.”

Rose bit back her sobs and nodded resolutely. “Sherlock, help me carry him.”

John balked at her. “He’s in no condition to be moved. He could die.”

Rose stared into her son’s eyes and for the first time John saw the true fear of the unknown shine through the detective’s face. “This is...He’s going to…?”

“Yes. We have to move him, now. It’s not safe here, there could be more of them upstairs. He can only hold it back so long.”

“Sherlock, what’s she talking about?” John asked.

Sherlock had gone white. He wordlessly stood up and lifted the Doctor up by his shoulders. The Timelord cried out in pain and John jumped to his feet. “I said we can’t move him, he’ll die!”

“He’s dying anyway!” Sherlock shouted back. “Grab his feet, quickly John.”

John reluctantly took the thin man’s legs and helped redistribute his weight. Rose called for them to follow her and they ran, running through the chilly air down the alley they’d parked the ship in. She made it to the TARDIS first and held the door open. They eased the dying man down onto the pilot’s seat, and then heard him croak out another word.

“H...home.”

Rose stared at him, placing a gentle hand on the cheek she was going to miss. “What? We’re here, we’re in the TARDIS.”

“I want...to be home. Sherlock, please.”

Sherlock nodded and stepped up to the controls. “Any time period where it is likely to be empty?”

“We avoided the seventies...for a safety net,” the Doctor nodded painfully, looking into Rose’s eyes. “That...and to avoid bell-bottoms.”

Rose smiled in spite of herself, taking hold of the man’s hand. John watched in fascination as Sherlock operated the machine with the grace of someone repeating a task for the thousandth time. He heard the familiar screech, and then the TARDIS was landing.

“I’ve broken the rules and parked in the living room,” Sherlock said, helping his mother pull the Doctor to his feet. “I thought it was best not to walk far.”

John had no idea where they were. It looked like a normal, modern home, complete with furnishings and a lived-in feeling. The fruit on the table was still fresh, the lights were all on for them, but he still felt as if he was entering a house that had long since been empty. They went to set the Doctor on the couch, but he waved their hands away, choosing to lie on the carpet. 

“I like that couch,” he mumbled. “Don’t want to ruin it.” His breaths continued to get raspier, and John knew the sheer amount of blood flowing from him wouldn’t have even fit inside a human’s vascular system.

“Do we...should we do something?” Sherlock whispered to his mother. “How can we help him?”

She patted Sherlock’s arm sadly, and then leaned down close to her husband. She pressed her lips against his gently, and despite the pain movement caused him he brought one hand up to cradle her face.

“You know what happens next.”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“Still me, Rose. Don’t forget. Still me.”

“I know,” she said, sobbing quietly.

“Besides,” he croaked out, “sixty years of this daft old face? It’s about time you trade me in for a new model.”

She forced a laugh through her tears. “Promise you won’t have two heads. I couldn’t take the snoring.”

He smiled, and pressed his lips against hers one more time. He looked over her shoulder and smiled weakly at his son. “Sherlock, don’t be afraid.”

“I--I’m not,” Sherlock lied, clearly shaken.

“And John?” the Timelord said, beckoning him a little closer.

John stepped forward awkwardly. “Yes?”

The Doctor smiled at him. “I’d do it again. I just wanted you to hear that from me, before--” the Doctor gasped, back arching while a strange golden glow started to shine from his face. “Everyone back!”

Rose scrambled away. Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulder and pulled him back from the glowing alien. The light around him grew and seemed to stream from his face and hands like fire. It felt like it lasted forever, but when John looked back on it later he thought the whole ordeal took maybe twenty seconds. Then the glow was gone, and so was the Doctor.

John blinked, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. Where the Doctor had been lying there was now a new man in his clothing. He was young, maybe thirty or so with slightly shaggy dark hair and wide eyes. He sat up, hands feeling at his face. Those new eyes searched until they found Rose, and then he smiled lopsidedly.

“Well,” he said, a bit out of breath. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Love. How’d I turn out?”

“Not ginger,” she said carefully. She smiled a bit but did not move closer. He stood and reached a hand out to her, and she took it hesitantly.

“Still me,” he said to her quietly, almost whispering.

She nodded sadly.

He placed a finger under her chin and made her look up at him. “This morning I couldn’t find my reading glasses. I spent an hour looking for them before you pointed out I left them in my jacket pocket, the one I was already wearing. You laughed and called me a silly old man, and then we made pancakes. I love you. Still me.”

Her smile grew a little. She pressed her lips against his experimentally, experiencing the differences and finding the similarities. “Still you.”

He pulled her into a tight embrace and nodded to Sherlock. “Doing alright? Bit shocking the first time.”

“I know you…” Sherlock muttered. “I mean, obviously, but I’ve seen that face before. On the planet Moira, when we went camping.”

“Careful, Sherlock,” the man warned him. “Spoilers.”

“You were wearing the most awful outfit with a bowtie.”

“Oh,” the new Doctor said with raised eyebrows. “Really? I hadn’t considered that before. I haven’t worn a bowtie in ages.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Rose grimaced.

“No can do,” he grinned at her. “Sherlock said it, and now I have to do it, or it’d cause a paradox. Ha, get it? There’ll be two of us on planet Moira at the same time, a pair o’ Docs.”

“Oh, fantastic, this one makes puns,” Sherlock huffed.

John threw his hands in the air. “Excuse me, what the bloody hell is happening!”


End file.
